


Brains of the Operation

by cat_77



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Medical Trauma, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25412824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: The latest serial killer has targeted Malcolm for his brain. Literally.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100





	Brains of the Operation

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist a bad pun for the title.
> 
> * * *

The fact that the setup was so elaborate was possibly what he counted on to save his life. He had known the killer was meticulous, that much was obvious by the evidence or lack thereof left behind at each site, left behind on the bodies, really, as everything else was damn near pristine. Apparently, what little they had found was only part of the obsessive, almost ritualistic nature of the killings, though Edrisa had suspected more must have been involved from a simple medical point of view.

If he survived, he would need to tell her she had been correct.

When, not if, he mentally corrected himself. Soon, hopefully. Later would not be so good.

“You don’t need to do this!” he tried, and Ellis looked at him like they were well past that point and they both knew it. 

“Pretending to be stupid now will not help your cause,” Ellis told him calmly as he tightened another screw. The tip of the metal just barely bit into his temple, sharp and warm, though he could not tell if it was blood or sweat that started a slow drip towards his jawline.

“Maybe it’s not pretend?” he asked a little too hopefully. The next screw was spun into place that much tighter in silent reprimand for the attempt.

Jacob Ellis: Forty-six-year-old veterinarian school dropout who currently worked as a receptionist at Saint Elaine’s Hospice. His grades had been excellent, but was deemed to not have the proper empathy needed for the career. Slightly balding and slightly neurotically groomed down to a pomade-like substance in his perfectly trimmed beard, his job was to check in every visitor for every patient in the hospice’s care. This meant he knew precisely who had more visitors and who had been left to pass alone.

Malcolm assumed that is how it started. Maybe first after someone had passed, then just before. It was an exam, of sorts, at least at first. The joints and tendons of the left hand exposed and possibly manipulated. It was a test of fortitude, and each of the victims had suffered at least that. Two victims had then suffered similar treatment with the ligaments of their right knee. Given Ellis’ slight limp, Malcolm believed he knew the source of the fascination with that particular part of the anatomy and was fairly certain a sports injury of the past played an underlying role – running, most likely. They had originally thought it to be a pattern, but it seemed more likely he was comparing and contrasting the anatomy between a male and a female given later investigations. After the initial two, the damage varied more but always had a counterpart for each. One set of victims had their heart and lungs removed, and another their spleen and lower intestines. Edrisa had posited that the deceased had been fully conscious until they blacked out from pain, and he supposed he should be grateful for small mercies.

If he was a betting man, he would say Ellis was going after his brain next. It wasn’t hubris; it was the fact that he was literally strapping him down and immobilizing his head and there was a drill set next to the series of scalpels and syringes and all sorts of other things. Everything precisely set, nudged back to a version of perfect if accidentally jostled. His arms and his legs were already locked into place, and he had very little movement despite his attempts to thrash.

“You know what I’m doing, don’t you?” Ellis said, apropos of nothing, an almost pleased edge coloring his tone. The halo collar typically used to stabilize neck injuries and spinal fractures was now in place, and he stepped back to examine his work. When Bright didn’t respond, he continued anyway, with, “I watched you, you see. No one saw the obvious, no one thought to even look, but you did. You reasoned so much, I simply had to see how it worked. How those thoughts bounced from place to place to place again. Neurons. Synapses. Connections. The others with you, they didn’t follow. Only the doctor, maybe. She was nearly there and will have to be sufficient for comparison.”

Edrisa. He was going to go after Edrisa next.

He tried to move again and managed barely a vibration against the metal and leather. The cuffs were actually very similar to his own allowing him to move his fingers slightly and nothing else, but only without a quick release and definitely without any slack in the tether. They were sturdy, and they would hold, even if he did manage to do anything more than flinch against them. There was also more to them, additional pieces and all that, but his mind decided to focus on something he knew versus something he feared at the moment, and he let it.

The scalpel came first. Hand flattened from the fist he had made against the metal of the table-like gurney he was laid out upon until he had no leverage, a line was drawn from the third knuckle down to just shy of the fingernail of the middle finger on his left hand. There was no gag and nothing to hold back his scream as the blood began to drip freely. The skin was just barely pushed apart and a probe pressed against what he knew to be the white knuckle of bone, nerves activated and wanting to expand and contract the vulnerable tendons there. A syringe of what he hoped was only saline but felt like acid was squeezed against the wound to better expose what lie beneath.

“Good, your tolerance is high,” Ellis commented mildly when he saw that Bright was still conscious. “That will make this far more worthwhile.”

The probe, scalpel, and syringe were set beside him while Ellis turned and picked up the drill. Malcolm had the feeling that the sharpened bit might not have been sanitized to standard medical grade as there was no autoclave in sight, but also knew it truly was not about to matter.

“Did he learn this from watching one of those horrible old science fiction shows?” his father’s voice sounded somewhere above him. Malcolm was laid out at an angle due to the halo, but flat enough that he mostly saw only the industrial ceiling above him. The nice part about being immobilized was that he couldn’t turn his head to figure out where the voice was coming from. Well, other than his subconscious, that much was a given. “This is not very scientific at all. He would have been thrown right out of my operating room,” his father continued.

He didn’t bother to question why this particular hallucination or topic of conversation chose that particular moment to manifest, he simply embraced it as a distraction. He had fleeting thoughts of his mother, of his sister, of even Gil and Dani and JT, but to focus on those would mean to say his goodbyes to them and to say his goodbyes would mean he had given up. He was not quite to that point, but knew it approached rapidly.

Ellis had readied the what he needed on the drill and stepped closer. He bent down, voice filled with an undercurrent of glee as he said, “Let’s find out just how high that tolerance of yours truly is.”

He heard the whir, swore he could even feel the vibration already, and knew he had to act fast as it may be his very last chance to do so. There was a clank though, and an echo of a thud beneath the high-pitched spinning. He thought he was still hearing things, even when a familiar voice demanded, “Put it down and step away!”

“Or what?” Ellis baited. He could feel the heat from the motor now, the very first pinprick of agony as his skin was torn open in a tiny whorl, skull reverberating in its wake. He struggled to stay silent, both as to not give Ellis the satisfaction and to sate his curiosity as to how everything would play out. “You shoot me, and there’s no telling what my autonomic responses may be. I may well miss the mark, or hit it far too deep.”

He crouched over Malcolm now, the gurney and his own body a shield of sorts against Gil and whoever he had brought with him on the other side. He had released the trigger of the drill, but undoubtedly kept his finger on it, ready and waiting. “Put it down!” JT demanded, which answered at least part of that question.

“No,” Ellis replied with deceptive calm. The gurney as a whole jerked as the locks on the wheels were kicked free. “You want the only one of that little team of yours that actually has a brain back and I want to go free, even if it means losing this particular specimen. You are going to let me back away to the exit and then and only then will your man be left alone.”

“You are in no position to negotiate,” Dani said, and Malcolm felt a bit of non-trauma-related warmth that she was there as well.

He heard the snort of disbelief right before the drill turned back on and was plunged against his temple, not deep, not yet, but definitely enough to make a point. He was ashamed to say a whimper escaped at the action. “I really think I am,” Ellis corrected her. He pulled the tool back ever so slightly to begin his schpeel of, “What’s going to happen next is-”

He didn’t get out any more than that because Malcolm finally made his move. With a scream of anguish as his hand ripped open further, he plunged the discarded scalpel he had palmed a lifetime ago into the nearest bit of insane serial killer flesh that he could reach. It wasn’t much, limited mobility and all that, but it was the only chance he had and he was taking it.

It was enough, it had to be, as he was simply out of all other options. Ellis jerked back in surprise, the bit of the drill catching on the halo and yanking. The first movement was barely there, but the next wrenched his neck to the side as one of the others finally took the shot and Ellis collapsed to the floor, the gurney kicked fitfully to the side in his fall. The drill fell, taking with it a few strands of hair that had wrapped themselves around the chuck, but had thankfully stopped as soon as the button was released. It clattered much too loudly against metal and cement, but that was fine, that was okay, as it served as counterpoint to the pounding footsteps of the others as they approached.

“You okay, Bright?” Dani asked. She was not much more than a mass of dark curls at the edge of his vision, or at least she wasn’t until she leaned closer. Her pupils were dilated, concern as evident in her gaze as it was her tone.

“Not quite a hundred percent,” he admitted with a groan.

He watched as her eyes tracked where every single screw had made contact with his skin, and then as they grew huge when she saw his hand and the damage that lay there. “We’re going to need a medic!” she called, and he thought he heard at least one of the others mutter that they always did when he was involved.

She fumbled with the releases on his restraints while the others secured the most definitely more than a suspect. She pressed one of the sterile wipes that were undoubtedly for Ellis’ own hands to the wound across his and then whispered apologies when he flinched and gritted his teeth in response. “Get me out of this thing?” he asked, already reaching towards any of the screws the slightly numb fingers of his good hand could find.

She tried to hold that one in place while still holding the cloth to his wound. “I don’t think you should touch that yet, not until the medics have a look, just in case,” she warned him.

“Surface wounds only,” he insisted. He really wanted to sit up, to see more of the world around him than the bland ceiling above him. “The screws barely broke the skin and definitely didn’t break bone.”

“And the drill?” she prompted doubtingly.

He twisted his good hand away enough to reach up to where he knew the wound lay. It hurt. A lot. Even more so when he tried to palpitate the area. His vision whited out for a moment, only to be replaced with red when his hand came back into focus in front of him. “Yeah, okay, we might want to wait on that one,” he relented. 

She managed to hold back both the smirk and the eye roll at that, and started in on the myriad of other buckles and straps instead. “This will make you more comfortable, but try to stay still until the medics get here,” she directed.

As much as he wanted to move and to show the world that he had some level of control over himself, he knew that wasn’t happening at the moment. He settled for flexing his feet and the fingers of his good hand despite the overpowering want for more. He took a deep breath simply to not feel the weight of the strap across his chest, and squirmed slightly to try to release the ball of tension that had taken up at the base of his spine. He decided to distract himself from all of that and asked, “How did you find me anyway?”

“Tracking app on your phone,” Gil provided. He leaned over enough to make eye contact and shook his head. “I thought we agreed no piercings, City Boy.” The worry was obvious despite the joking. His hand hovered above him, not quite touching, as if he was afraid he’d crumble apart if he did.

Malcolm laughed despite himself. “You made me promise not to get any until I was at least eighteen. I’m a little past that now,” he pointed out. Then, remembering the first part, he verified, “You used a babysitting app on my phone?”

“Yes,” Gil agreed easily enough. It was scarily echoed by a feminine voice also confirming the fact. “It showed the last place you had a signal before he turned off your phone, and we went from there.”

JT snorted from somewhere off to his right. “They might have used that, but I slid one of those little tile chips into your wallet months ago. People might ditch your phone, but tend to keep a rich kid’s wallet for the cash and ID.”

Malcolm opened and closed his mouth a few times before he admitted, “I can’t tell if I’m impressed or offended.” His wallet had been in his pocket, right up until he woke up in a set of scrubs from Saint Elaine’s. Given Ellis’ obsessive nature, it was incredibly likely that his suit and its contents were still neatly waiting for him nearby. All of the victims had been found dressed back in their own clothing, even if their horrible injuries lay beneath. They had actually been able to identify three of them that way, their IDs and even credit cards still neatly tucked in place.

“It probably saved your life, so maybe go with impressed,” Gil suggested. Dani had stepped back to deal with something Malcolm couldn’t quite see, which meant it was Gil who kept up the pressure on his hand. The lieutenant glanced down at that wound and then back up to where the drill had torn its hole. “Kind of afraid to put pressure on that one, but it might be needed,” he admitted after a nervous lick of his lip. That was always a tell of his; not quite fear, but something personal and concerning, like he didn’t want harm to come to something he cared about more than anything other emotion.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think I’ll be conscious much longer to feel it anyway,” Bright tried, words already beginning to fade towards the end. Things were getting fuzzy, adrenaline dwindling now that his mind assured him that he was safe. The pain was keeping him awake, but passing out would help take care of that as well.

His vision focused enough to see dark eyes widen above him. The pressure on his hand increased as Gil leaned closer, the pain biting and sharp and almost enough to tip him over the edge. “Bright?” he asked, warm hand against his cheek. “Kid, try to stay awake, okay? The medics are almost here!”

There was the sound of footsteps as if proof to his words. His eyes drifted shut and it was really hard to open them again once asked to do so. Someone he didn’t recognized floated above him now, the lapels of her collar denoting her as medical personnel. The woman said something calming and reassuring that he totally didn’t hear a word of. When he insisted no sedatives, she made a face but nodded in acknowledgment of his request. Her gloved hand came upwards to palpitate the skin next to each screw as if to test the damage there. When she brushed against where the drill had made contact, there was a flash of heat and white and a fair deal of agony, and then he finally slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

When he next awoke, it was to a too cool room with blankets that were both too light and too scratchy against his skin. One hand was wrapped in a fair amount of gauze, and the other had a bulky clip that he assumed was the standard pulse-ox that was sending signals to make the machine at his side beep at annoying intervals. His head felt both too big and too tight all at once, and he reached up a shaky hand only to find it stopped before he even made it halfway to his target.

He opened his eyes to glare at the perpetrator and was surprised to find JT slowly lowering his hand back to the thin mattress. “No touchy,” Tarmel directed, and even gave his hand something that was a cross between a disciplinary tap and a reassuring pat.

There was movement on the other side of the bed and he found Dani standing there with Gil as her shadow behind her. “They said the main wrap can come off soon, but they want to keep the stitches covered for a few days to help prevent infection,” she told him.

He made a face at that, even though it explained the circular pressure around his skull. To do so pulled at his wound though, which just made him have to flinch and pull it in another direction. JT distracted him by saying, “Don’t worry, they didn’t even have to cut that ridiculous hair of yours.”

“They want another CT and neurological exam as well as another IV of antibiotics before they will even consider letting you go, so none of us are letting you off AMA this time, kid,” Gil told him. It partially explained why all three were still there if nothing else. They had work to do, the suspect to process, unless he had been out longer than he thought and all of that had been completed already. It was hard to think with his brain on fire, hard to track time and movements. Gil narrowed his eyes knowingly before he asked, “How’s the pain?”

Bright licked his lips to speak and found his throat too dry to fully get out anything coherent. Some ice water that gave him even more chills later, and he managed, “Pain is most definitely there.”

He knew that admission in itself was far too telling as he usually denied such things, but the truth was going to be damned hard to hide this time. His hand throbbed and his head was a burning spot of agony and the rest of him felt like a limp rag. “That’s to be expected with a skull fracture,” Gil assured him. Then, far softer, “It’s a minor one, but the bit made contact and they want to take all precautions.”

“Because, you know, there is such a thing as a minor skull fracture,” Dani added with a fair deal of sarcasm. There was the distinct sound of the click of heels on linoleum and she offered him a sympathetic expression. “Your mother has yet to see you conscious; try to stay awake for a few more minutes so that she doesn’t think we’re hogging your time?”

As if on cue, his mother came in and fussed and fumed and all sorts of other things. She didn’t believe that he was fine but, to be fair, either did he. She did add another two layers of blankets on top of him, which actually felt pretty nice, really. So did the next round of painkillers that the nurse injected into his line. After that, there was very little chance that he was going to stay awake, but that was fine. He was safe and sound and surrounded by people he cared about who might even care about him. 

It was enough for him to ignore the fuming image of his father in the corner of the room and the way that he promised that should Ellis be brought to a certain institution for his imprisonment, his time there would be short-lived. “No one hurts my boy,” he seethed, and Malcolm didn’t even have the energy to flip him off as he drifted off into a hopefully dreamless sleep.


End file.
